


When It Comes to Omegas, Neither a Buyer nor a Seller be

by Rads



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega!John, Omegaverse, Oral Sex, Pining, Romance, Soft Omegaverse, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rads/pseuds/Rads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> I loved you first: but afterwards your love / Outsoaring mine, sang a loftier song - </i> Christina Rossetti </p>
<p>In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? </p>
<p>"Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of  gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Buy an Omega

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic - and not betaed or Britpicked. I'm not a native English speaker, either, so I'm pretty sure there will be idiomatic errors. Just trying out my fledgling fanfic muscles, you know. "An ill-favoured thing, sir, but my own." 
> 
> I have a few more chapters written - am planning to post a chapter once or twice a week. Of course, if I don't get any hits, I'll gather up my camels and slink off sadly into the desert.

The auction house looked fairly busy from the outside. The steps leading up to the building were milling with alphas, many obviously so from their flamboyant clothing, others dressed more discreetly, but recognizable from the set of the jaw, the slant of the eye and a million other signs that Sherlock could read like an open book. And even without those signs, he would have known them for alphas anywhere from the smell alone. He sniffed irritably. As an alpha himself, he could identify every one of the 16 different pheromones that stamped someone as an alpha. And he wasn’t particularly fond of any of them. 

He turned impatiently to his companion, a gray-haired, lantern-jawed alpha, “Lestrade, we need to get inside. I know the omega is in there, probably being auctioned as we speak.”

Lestrade looked tired and harassed beyond his limit. “Sherlock – think! I don’t have time to get a warrant. And once he’s auctioned to an alpha, he’s as good as bonded. You’ll never get his evidence without the alpha’s consent.” 

Sherlock’s brow twitched. “The alpha might consent.” Then he frowned. 

Lestrade said, “I see there’s a “but” coming.” 

“But, relying on some alpha’s goodwill is quite a risk. Especially if you consider the type of alpha who buys omegas at auction houses.” He frowned. “And… there’s an outside chance the killer might buy him. Or one of his friends might.”

Lestrade’s mouth hung open in shock. “You think so?” 

“It’s possible. I’m not saying it’s probable. If my deductions are correct, the killer should still be in Glasgow today. The weather there is far too inclement for travel. But he could have friends here. As far as we know the omega has only mentioned the tattoo to one person, but you know what they say about secrets. What the Homeless Network knows, others can find out.” 

“We really don’t have any other leads, do we?” 

“None at all. And even this is a tenuous lead at best. All we have to go on is that tattoo, and this is the only mention we have heard of such a tattoo all these weeks.” 

“Looks like this omega is our last chance, then. We’ll have to buy him, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock stared at Lestrade. “Are you brain dead? You’re bonded.” 

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “When I say “we”, I mean you.” 

“Me? Buy an omega?” Sherlock yelped. 

“Yes, you. You’re an unbonded alpha.” At the look in Sherlock’s eye, Lestrade backed up a bit hurriedly. “You don’t have to bond with him! You could always sell him again after the case.” Lestrade grimaced. Buying and then reselling an omega was definitely frowned upon, but these were desperate times. A gang of assassins had started operations in the UK – 23 people already dead, and those were just the known deaths. And this was the only lead they had, however faint. 

Sherlock scowled at Lestrade. “Are you asking me to buy an omega for, what, £40-50k for a case?!!”

Lestrade snapped back. “Yes! I know it’s a lot of money, but you can auction him off again - he won’t be worse off than he is now. Plus, there’s a £10k reward, so you won’t be that much out of pocket.” 

“Are you insane? Where will I keep him? Do you think I want an omega hanging around me till the case is done?”

Lestrade had obviously not thought of that, but he made a quick recover. “You won’t be bothered with him. I’ll take him home for now and find him a place till the case is done.”

“You swear? You know I can’t take care of an omega, Lestrade!”

“I promise. You won’t be bothered with him once we get out of this place. Sherlock! We’re running out of time!”

Sherlock thought quickly. “He has been bonded before, and isn’t young – that should lower the price.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He preferred to text but this was an emergency. 

He flipped the phone open and pressed a key. After a couple of seconds, he got a response. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Mycroft. I need to use your card.” Sherlock kept low limits on his own cards – there was no point tempting fate, with his history of drug abuse. He had been clean for two years, but access to cash and boredom were a lethal combination. 

“Oh never mind how I got it. You really should take care of your belongings better.” 

Lestrade strained to hear, but could only detect a tinny babble at the other end.

“Of course it’s for a case. Lestrade’s here with me. You can take it out of my trust fund later, brother dear.” 

After a pause, he nodded and cut the connection. “All right. Let’s go.” 

They pushed their way through the press of alphas to the counter where Sherlock registered as a buyer, using Mycroft’s card. Formalities over, the two men showed their passes at the door and walked into the auction hall. 

The auction hall itself wasn’t as crowded as the lobby, likely because it was larger and could seat 500 easily. There were empty rows at the back, but they needed a better view. Sherlock and Lestrade got seats toward the middle of the hall, in the aisle row. 

On the dingy stage, an auctioneer was standing at a small, low table. There were two blocks on either side of him, four blocks in all. At each wooden block was an omega, kneeling, modestly looking at the floor. However, there was little modesty about the way they were dressed. The women were dressed in bras and panties, and the sole man in pants. All of them had collars around their necks, with heavy chains hanging from them. 

Sherlock quickly glanced over the four omegas. None of these was the omega he was looking for. 

He grimaced. Omegas. They were either pampered pets, protected house spouses, or, the kind he was looking at right now, beaten down slaves. Alphas could only mate with omegas, since alphas couldn’t have penetrative sex with betas. And since alphas laid down the law, omegas were also barred from mating with betas. In theory, alphas met and wooed omegas in safe conditions. In practice, well, omegas were discreetly bought and sold in the highest houses in the land, and of course, omega houses existed for alphas who were either desperate or brutal. 

The bidding continued. Sherlock’s fingers tapped on the seat of the chair impatiently, before he realized that could draw attention and stopped. He turned to Lestrade, “I hope this doesn’t take much longer.” 

Lestrade gave him a much-put-upon look. “Yes, I know you’re bored. Think of this as a stake-out, will you?”

“Hmmm… Yes, that does make it marginally more bearable.”

Bidding ended on the red-headed female omega in the front for £45,000. A good price for a healthy, even attractive omega in her early 20s. The winner of the auction, a thin man in jeans, lifted the chain hanging from her collar and practically dragged her away. 

Lestrade sniffed with disapproval, “These omega auction houses turn my stomach. Omegas are fragile. It’s disgusting to treat them like this.” 

“The law allows it.” Sherlock said flatly.

“Yes. God I wish someone would start a crusade for omega rights. I’d join the parade, I would.”

Sherlock hmm’ed thoughtfully. One of Lestrade’s children was an omega. Was that why it bothered him? He shook his head. Sentiment. Not his area except when it involved a crime. 

But Sherlock was fair enough to concede that it could just be a desire for justice. Alphas and omegas had come into being as part of a project to revive dying tribes around the world, by producing several test tube babies and splicing in genes that created alphas and omegas – new genders that could breed across the sexes, stayed fecund for at least two decades more than their normal counterparts, produced litters of 4-5 children at a time, and lived around 20 years longer. But since the final goal was more and more children, the omegas’ fertility became a public commodity. And of course the genie, once out of the bottle, couldn’t be pushed back in. The new technology quickly spread to all peoples, most of whom were very far from dying out. 

The girl who had been sitting at the back was now dragged forward, the chain making her crawl across the stage. Sherlock’s practiced eye ran over her – were those scratches on her upper arm? No, whip marks. His stomach tensed. Perhaps Lestrade had a point after all. 

The door at the back of the stage opened and a young man was brought in. Small, thin, with short blond hair, wearing a pair of crimson underpants. Apparently heavily drugged but fighting it, as evident from the careful steps that brought him to the block, where he sank gracefully and knelt, head dropping to his chest. 

“That’s him.” 

“Yes, that’s definitely him.” Lestrade looked at a photo in his hand. “A bit worse for wear, though, wouldn’t you say?”

Sherlock frowned, feeling irritated at the omega house. “He has been beaten and is drugged out of his skull. We won’t get anything out of him today.” 

“Oh poor boy! I’ll patch him up at home.” 

Sherlock mused upon that. His eyes rested on the omega’s face. Square, boyish, handsome. Almost sweet. Like a blind kitten. And then the omega lifted his head and looked straight at him with sleepy midnight blue eyes. Not just blue – a little central heterochromia there, similar to the partial heterochromia that turned his own eyes green or gray on occasion. 

The omega looked confused at the alpha’s steady scrutiny and raised his eyebrows. But even that tiny exertion seemed to take it out of him, and his head sank back on his chest again. 

Lestrade elbowed Sherlock. “The bidding is starting”.

The auctioneer came onto the podium. “And here we have a beautiful male omega, 32 years old, a rare bond-widower. Has never whelped, but certified fertile. Bisexual. Bidding starts at £12,000.” 

“£15,000!” came the first bid, from a short man in the second row.

Sherlock shook his head at Lestrade and waited for the bids to thin out. He waited to hear it, the tone in the bids that signaled the bidders had shot their bolts. It came soon enough. It was very evident that neither the killer nor his friends were bidding. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Now.” He told Lestrade, who lifted his arm. 

“£30,000! Do I hear a higher bid?” 

Apparently not, for the gavel came down on the table. “Sold, for £30,000 to the gentleman in the brown suit.” 

Lestrade went up to the stage and gently removed the collar and the chain. Sherlock followed him, and stood just below the stage, looking up at the kneeling omega, gathering data. Lestrade tried to lift the omega but the man flinched at Lestrade’s touch and tried to crawl away. Behind him, Sherlock saw the owner stepping forward with a cane in his hand. He jerked his head at Lestrade in a silent gesture. Lestrade had worked long enough with Sherlock to be attuned to his signals. He turned around in time to see the owner stepping forward with a cane, poised to strike the omega. He deftly pulled the cane out of his hands and flung it across the stage. “Stand back,” he said vehemently.

The owner stepped back, looking both abashed and angry. “He won’t let any alpha touch him willingly. Either use the cane or get a beta. In any case, get him off the stage.” 

Sherlock’s eyes raked over the omega’s slight form. This wasn’t going to work. He leaped lightly on the stage and pulled off his coat. It was the work of a moment to wrap his enveloping Belstaff around the slighter man, without touching him, and lift him into his arms. The omega was so light it was like picking up a 10 year old. 

“I’ll wait near the door. Take the card. It’s in my pocket.” 

Lestrade found the card and bounded off to finish the payments. Sherlock placed his burden gently on a chair near the door and waited. The omega was shivering. Sherlock buttoned up the coat around the omega’s slight frame, careful not to touch him. Hmm… he had a pair of gloves… he slipped his hand into the coat pocket and found them and pulled them on. 

He took a quick look around. There were water bottles stacked near the door for the guests. He tucked the omega into the chair more comfortably, then picked up a couple of bottles, and returned. He opened a bottle and tried to coax the omega to swallow some. What was his name again? Watson, John Watson. 

“John? John Watson. Can you hear me?

The omega’s eyes opened weakly and he looked at Sherlock. “Oh it’s you.” 

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to make of that, but insisted, “You need to drink some water. They have drugged you.” 

John nodded and took a few sips from the bottle Sherlock held to his lips. 

He stopped shivering and seemed to relax. His slight body slumped onto Sherlock’s shoulder. 

Lestrade returned. “Well, that’s done. I think I’d better take him home.” 

“All right. I’ll carry him to the taxi.”

The omega moved restlessly and clutched Sherlock’s collar tighter. 

Sherlock frowned, then decided the clutching hand wasn’t strong enough to spoil the set of his jacket. He shrugged at Lestrade. “Make yourself useful. Get a taxi.”

Sherlock picked up the omega, who had drifted off again, and they walked out of the building to the street, Sherlock hardly slowing down, as if the body in his arms weighed nothing. He felt a rush of adrenalin and felt his arms tighten on the omega possessively. Interesting chemical reaction, he thought. 

Lestrade threw up an arm and a taxi stopped. He opened the door and got in. Sherlock carefully bent down and tried to settle John on the seat. 

The omega seemed to come to life. “No, no, no!” there were the beginnings of real panic in his voice. “Don’t leave me!” and he clutched at Sherlock, thin arms grabbing at Sherlock’s bare neck. Sherlock stopped, stunned. Clearly the no-touching rule didn’t seem to apply to Sherlock. Or was he missing something?

Sherlock lifted him back into his arms again and stood there, irresolute. The omega promptly clutched his collar again, turned his face onto Sherlock’s neck and drifted off. 

“Well. This is an unexpected problem.” 

Lestrade got out of the cab and looked uncertainly at Sherlock. “If you don’t mind coming with me, we could take him to a beta’s house.” 

“No, no. I don’t want to waste time trying out possible solutions. I’ll take him home for now. He’ll probably be more accommodating once the drugs are out of his system and he has eaten and slept.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes,” He said impatiently. “You can come to Baker Street tomorrow and check if he’s being looked after, all right?”

“Well, all right. It seems we don’t have much of a choice.” Lestrade looked down at the sleeping man. “He seems to have taken a shine to you, anyway,” looking pointedly at the omega’s hand clutching Sherlock’s collar. 

Sherlock didn’t deign to reply. He carefully slid into the cab, settling John in his lap. 

“Sherlock! Don’t question him till I get there!” 

“All right, I won’t. Tomorrow morning at 10, Lestrade!” 

Then, to the cab driver, “221 Baker Street. And don’t be slow.” 

The cab moved into traffic. John murmured something unintelligible. Sherlock sighed. This really wasn’t his area. 

The taxi stopped at 221 B, Baker Street. Sherlock paid the driver and helped John out. “John, can you walk?” 

John seemed to nod sleepily and took a shaky step forward. Sherlock propped him against the front door and opened it with his key. Getting a drugged man up the stairs, however light he was, was difficult, but Sherlock managed it. He pulled John over to the sofa and helped him lie down. 

He had better feed the omega if he didn’t want to him to expire of hunger. He went into the kitchen and made some tea. There was no food in the fridge but there were some biscuits in the box. He sat down by John and half-coaxed, half forced him to get the tea and a couple of biscuits down. That should hold him till morning. It wasn’t a good idea to overfeed a drugged man, especially as he had no idea what drugs were in his system. 

Then he gently removed the coat, lifted the omega and took him into the bedroom, where he covered him with a quilt, propped up his head on pillows and arranged him in the recovery position so that he wouldn’t choke if he vomited, and was about to leave the room when he heard a faint, “thank you”. 

He turned and awkwardly patted the omega on the shoulder. “It’s fine. Get some sleep. If you need anything, call me. I’m in the drawing room.” 

The omega nodded trustingly, his eyes still closed, and relaxed into the bed.


	2. He Walks in Beauty, Like the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warm, safe apartment, and an alpha gorgeous enough to be a model. But John Watson doesn't believe in fairy tales - or does he?
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a million for all the kudos and comments! Wow - you guys are the best! Wasn't planning to post my next chapter so soon, but with so much encouragement, I just couldn't wait! :):)

John woke up feeling disoriented and terrible. His mouth felt furry and something was hammering sharp spikes into his brain. Where the hell was he? 

Soft sheets. Soft bed. Not the omega house, then. Oh.

The memories started tiptoeing back. The sale. His memories of the sale were fuzzy. He had been surrounded by alphas, their unbearable stink surrounding him like a miasma of fear, their rough hands touching his sensitive skin. He had fought, slammed one alpha into the wall. Then they had drugged him. 

An alpha had bought him. Two alphas? A tall, beautiful man. He had a deep, kind voice. He remembered someone covering his bare body with a coat, its sudden warmth. The coat had smelled heavenly, like honey and fresh tobacco and spice. Someone had carried him into a taxi as if he weighed nothing. Well, he probably didn’t weigh all that much. He had forgotten the last time he’d had a real meal since his alpha had died, three years ago. 

James. He had been a good man, but they had been together only for three months before James was redeployed. Then James died in Afghanistan, a year after their bonding. It might have been better if John had died then as well, as most omegas did of shock when they were unexpectedly widowed. When a bullet ended James’ life, John’s bondmark shattered, and the neighbours took him to the army hospital, where they were obliged to treat him. He survived, albeit with an ugly scar across his left shoulder. Once discharged from the army hospital, though, he was left with nothing. As an omega widower without children, he wasn’t entitled to James’ property or pension. Both would go to James’ alpha mother. With nowhere to go, he had returned to his father’s house. 

His father had first looked on John’s return as a burden, somewhat ameliorated by the fact that John did all the housework and took on part-time jobs to augment the family income. But recently, as Watson senior’s gambling habit grew, he had started to drop comments about John needing to be more useful. Hence the fateful night when his father took him to a gambling den and lost him at poker. 

John sighed and sank back into the pillows. He had been sold at the omega auction. Everyone knew omegas bought at auctions were treated no better than slaves. But he had been given a soft bed to sleep on and no one had even touched him. Why? 

At least this wasn’t the omega house. Even his own father’s house would be better than the omega house, despite the constant verbal abuse. His head hurt. He wished it would stop. 

He needed to get up. Opening his eyes, he slowly sat up and carefully swung his feet down to the floor. The door opened. A tall, gorgeous alpha stood there, in a sapphire blue dressing gown, open over a pair of dark silk pajamas. John stared at him. Yes, this was the alpha from last night, but he was far more beautiful than John remembered. Messy dark hair over an elfin face, with high cheekbones and slanted, multi-colored eyes. Pale and slim, but strong. He remembered the ease with which the alpha had carried him. 

The alpha stood there, looking uncertain. He was holding a glass of water and two tablets, which he placed on the table. “For your headache.” 

That voice. Deep, velvety and smooth. John tried to smile but his head hurt. He quietly took the meds and downed them with the water, thankful for the coolness going down his throat. The alpha opened the cupboard, took out a pair of pajamas and put them on the bed. “When you feel up to it, come out and we’ll have breakfast. Mrs Hudson made ham and eggs before she left.” 

_Who was Mrs Hudson?_

John spoke quietly, “Can I have a shower, please?” He was nigh desperate to wash the smell of the omega house off his skin. 

“Yes, of course.” The alpha opened a chest of drawers, took out a towel, and placed it on the bed. A new toothpaste and toothbrush followed. “You can use my soap and shampoo. There should be some hot water left. If you want to shave, don’t use my straight razor – you might cut yourself. There’s an electric one in the cupboard. I think it still works. Don’t lock the door – if you feel dizzy, I’ll need to come in. How are you feeling, by the way?” 

“Better, yes. I’m all right.” 

He looked up and saw the skeptical look on the alpha’s face. “Hmm. I’m sure you’ll feel better after you eat. How much do omegas eat?” 

Inexplicably, that weird question made John feel safe. This alpha was a little strange, but he seemed genuinely concerned about John. 

But a little paranoid voice deep inside him asked: “What’s the catch?” 

John wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t believe in fairytale endings. Young, handsome, public-school accented alphas didn’t buy omegas off auctions. Not unless they had something other than a respectable bonding on their mind. He wasn’t an idiot. He had heard the rumors. 

Once he finished his shower, he came out into the drawing room. The room was a total mess, books and papers spilling over everywhere, the kitchen covered in laboratory equipment. 

A little voice in his head piped up quirkily: “Told you so. He’s a mad scientist. He’s planning to cut out your liver.”

“Ah, John. There you are. Don’t come into the kitchen – you’ll disturb my experiment. And don’t open the fridge.” 

_What was in the fridge?_

The alpha opened the microwave, took out a plate of bacon and eggs and set it on the coffee table. “Tea or coffee?” 

“Tea, please.” 

He popped some bread into the toaster, made tea and handed both over in silence. 

John ate quietly, but couldn’t help sneaking glances at the alpha. 

“You have questions.” 

“Umm… yes. I don’t know your name.” 

“Sherlock Holmes. Next?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a consulting detective. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me. And on that point, Inspector Lestrade will be here shortly. He needs your help, John. Are you feeling up to answering a few questions? 

John looked puzzled. 

“He asked me if he could question you. But he won’t unless you want to talk to him.”

John considered. It felt strange to be asked for permission. Did Sherlock Holmes believe in omega rights? He didn’t seem too politically inclined. “Is he an alpha?”

“Yes. Problem?”

“I… I was attacked the second day in the omega house. Since then, I don’t react well to alphas coming close to me. That’s why they had to drug me, the day of the auction. Yesterday, I mean.” 

“Oh.” 

Sherlock abandoned his experiment in the kitchen and came over to John, standing two feet away. “Does my presence bother you at this distance?”

John shook his head. 

“Can you smell me?”

“Yes.”

“But it doesn’t bother you?”

“No. I feel… safe with you.” 

John looked down at his tea when he said this and missed the expression that ran across his new alpha’s face. 

Sherlock sat down on the sofa next to John. “And now?”

John shook his head. 

“Well, I suppose some acclimatization is in order.” 

He pulled his laptop into his lap, and settled himself next to John, who slowly finished his bacon and eggs.

John sneaked another glance at Sherlock, only to find him studying John intently. 

“Your father gambled you away, didn’t he?” 

“How did you know?” 

“You’re bond-broken but bear no signs of recent short-term homelessness. Hence when your bond broke, you had a house to return to. A close relative, at your age, most likely you have living parents, so a father or a mother or both. Statistically women are less prone to being addicted to gambling, plus omega sons of alpha mothers tend to be taller. So more likely a father. He didn’t sell you to the omega house – he would have brought you to the auction himself if he wanted to sell you. Did he give you away? Again unlikely. The only situation I can think of where you ended up in an omega house without being on the streets is if he gambled you away to someone who decided to cash in immediately rather than take you home.”

John goggled at Sherlock. “Wow.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“That was amazing.” 

“You think so? 

“Yes, extraordinary, quite extraordinary.” 

“That’s not what people say.” 

“What do people say?”

“Piss off.”

John burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. The combination of relief and the remnants of the drug in his system were making him light-headed. What exactly did they give him, anyway? But Sherlock was laughing too, a deep-throated chuckle, and his entire face was lit up with mirth, making him more attractive than anyone John had ever seen, and John fell silent. 

Sherlock stopped giggling and frowned. 

“You really should have some more toast.” 

“No. I’m full, thanks. That’s the best food I’ve had for a long time.”

Sherlock looked him up and down. “I daresay. You look starved.”

John nodded, “Yes, I was.” This was weird. By rights he should be offended, but this alpha seemed so dispassionate in his statements. He wasn’t trying to put John down or hint that he was looking awful. He was merely making an observation. 

“I want to try something.” 

John raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

Sherlock put the laptop down, moved closer and took John’s hands in his own. He looked at John keenly, but saw no tension in John’s expression. 

“Tell me when you start feeling uncomfortable. I don’t fancy being thrown across the room.” 

“How did you know that’s what I did?” 

“Your eyes, John. You have the most expressive eyes I have seen for a long time. Not a poker player, are you?”

John shook his head and smiled. 

Sherlock moved even closer, put his arm around John’s shoulders, and pulled the smaller man into a hug. John moved closer, his heart thudding in his chest. For some blissful minutes, he drew in deep breaths full of his alpha’s pheromones, feeling himself relax and become warm all over as his own pheromones went into overdrive. Sherlock sniffed tentatively, then took in a deep breath. “You smell different today. Nicer.” 

John smiled. His headache faded into nothingness as the oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins pulsed through his brain. 

Sherlock pulled back, “Well, I guess that means you can stand my touch.” 

John felt bereft. He yearned to move forward again, pull his alpha closer and lick up his neck till the chemicals in his saliva had the alpha begging for mercy, but he didn’t. Other, more confident omegas, omegas who had been brought up with love and care, might have. But John never put himself forward - any such tendencies had been beaten out of him long ago. He moved slightly away from Sherlock and looked down. 

Sherlock seemed to understand. He patted John’s knee. “Lestrade will be here soon. Stay close to me if you need to. But I have to tell you, he is a good man, far better than I am, and a friend.” 

John nodded, still distracted by the cocktail of pheromones leaping through his blood. 

“Do you want to watch the telly while we wait?”

John shook his head. He had hardly watched any television for the last three years, and there wasn’t anything he was interested in. 

He eyes went to the bookcase to the left. 

“Go on. Just be careful if you open any of the boxes. I keep all kinds of stuff.” 

Sherlock’s gaze returned to the laptop and somehow John knew he had already forgotten him. He wasn’t in the least offended. As a teen, he had spent a couple of years assisting a retired professor of medicine who wrote books on the habits of urban fauna. He understood that his new alpha had the brain of a scientist. It was oddly reassuring. 

The shelf was pretty much covered with books. A hugely eclectic mix that ranged from surgery to law to business to fiction to politics. John picked out a book on current surgical practices and settled down at the table. He had always dreamt of becoming a doctor, but omegas could only study or work if their alpha guardians let them. Even James, a kind and even generous man, had not allowed John to study or work. 

Sherlock suddenly threw his laptop aside, bounded over the sofa, ran up the stairs, where John could hear him throwing things about, and then ran down again. John didn’t turn a hair. He was used to the boundless energy of alphas. His father and his sister were alphas, and they were always bouncing about. 

The doorbell rang. John almost shrank back, but stopped himself. This was his alpha’s domain. Nothing could harm him here.

Feet ran up the stairs. The door opened and a square-jawed, silver-haired alpha bounded in. 

John put his book aside and stood up in respect, but he couldn’t stop himself from shivering slightly as the alien alpha scent wafted into the room. 

But then Sherlock was near him, a hand on his shoulder, pressing him down into the chair again. He sat down.

“You’re late.” 

“Yes, sorry. I had to go in to pick up an encrypted police recorder. How’s he? Well enough to speak?”

Sherlock waved a hand irritably. “Why don’t you ask him? He’s right here.”

John looked up, surprised. His shaking had stopped, with Sherlock’s scent so close to him, the warmth of Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. 

“How can I help?” 

Lestrade moved a little closer, pulled out another chair and sat down a few steps away from John, a recorder in his hand. The scent was a little stronger, but he didn’t mind it so much now. The alpha was clearly a friend. 

“Do you remember the day you were sold?”

John flinched, and Sherlock’s arm went around his shoulders, holding him comfortingly. 

“You’re safe now, John.” 

John nodded. “It was a month ago, February 3rd. Saturday night. My father had been angry and frustrated for days. He had been threatening to sell me for quite some time, you know. But I didn’t really expect him to do it. And as a matter of fact, I don’t think he meant to. He was going to stake me in a game – I don’t think he expected to lose. So, around 6 p.m. that evening, he told me to get ready, to wear something attractive. I wore a crimson shirt and faux leather trousers. Leather boots, gel in my hair. Very omega male, you know.” 

Lestrade nodded thoughtfully. 

“We went to Andrew’s Inn, near Chinatown. It’s supposedly an inn, but the entire basement is a gambling den. He lost me in the very first game in which he staked me. To a tall, dark-haired man who was there with some friends. But that man staked and lost me after a few games, and I was passed around for a bit, till I ended up with an elderly man, who put me in a taxi, took me to the omega house, and sold me for £5000.” 

“Did you see a man there with a peculiar tattoo on his arm? Like an octopus, but human from the waist up, holding a trident?”

“Yes, I remembered that particularly. That was the man who won me first. The air conditioning wasn’t working properly, I remember. I was sweltering in my leather trousers. That man was wearing jeans and a blue shirt. Sometime during the game, he rolled up his arms and I saw the tattoo. But of course they fixed the air-conditioning in about 10 minutes, and he pulled down his sleeves again. 

“The man with the tattoo, do you remember what he looked like?” 

“Well…” 

“John.” 

John looked up at Sherlock. “I know it’s hard to remember, John. Can you close your eyes and try to visualize him?” 

“I wouldn’t need to if I had my mobile.” 

“You took pics?” Sherlock asked incredulously. 

“Yes, and videos. I pretended to be, you know, the perennially texting omega, but I was actually taking videos. And photos. They didn’t suspect me. They never suspect omegas. Omegas can’t work for the police or the government, you know.”

“But why in the world were you taking photos?”

“I’d heard tales of things that happened at gambling dens. If anything happened, I wanted to be able to come back, find the men responsible and kill them.” John's voice hardened. 

Sherlock bent closer, pressing his cheek against John’s. “You’re safe with us, John.” 

Lestrade gave them both a funny look. “Do you still have the mobile?”

“No. They took it from me at the omega house.” 

“Lestrade – can we get it from the omega house?” 

“We can try. I’ll ask for a warrant. But unlikely they’ll have it. The first thing they would do is destroy the sim card, reformat it and sell it.” 

John felt Sherlock deflate, and he felt a stab of regret at having let Sherlock down. He thought feverishly. Was there any way of accessing those photographs? Oh, oh, oh!

He turned sharply and looked up at Sherlock. “Dropbox!” 

Sherlock leapt to the sofa and picked up his laptop. “Username and password?” 

“jhwatson, medstudent. Lower case.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the password and John blushed. 

Lestrade walked over and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. John looked at the laptop screen too, from behind the sofa. 

The username and password worked and the folder opened to videos and photographs. Sherlock clicked on the topmost one. “That’s the elderly man who sold me” John said softly. “The man you’re looking for would be in the first few on that date.” 

Sherlock clicked on a video much lower down in the folder and it opened up. “That’s him!” John pointed to a tall man wearing a denim jacket over a T-shirt, and jeans. As they watched, the man turned to speak to another man behind him, and Sherlock froze. “The Sussex strangler.” 

“Who?” 

It was Lestrade who replied, “George Nathan. Accused of three serial murders 4 years ago, but acquitted due to lack of evidence. Now we find him cheek by jowl with another murder suspect. He used to be clean shaven, but I’ll never forget that nose.” 

The camera panned to the left. “Fred Higgins.” Lestrade said quietly. 

“And who’s Fred Higgins?”

“The college student who provided George Nathan’s alibi. He claimed he had been sitting next to Nathan on a boat going across the Thames at the same time the last murder happened in Sussex. His background was checked, but obviously not thoroughly enough.” 

Sherlock clicked on the next video. It showed the game going on, but this time the man’s sleeves were rolled up and the octopus tattoo was clearly visible. Sherlock leaped with joy, then turned to John, pulled his head down and kissed him loudly on the cheek. “John, you’re marvelous!” 

John blushed hotly – the proximity, the alpha’s lips on his cheek, and the compliment – all together set his heart racing. 

Lestrade turned to John, smiling. “I need your dropbox account as evidence. I’ll give Sherlock some forms for you to sign later. You won’t need to come down to the station. Sherlock, does 8.00 sound ok to you?” 

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll meet you at the station.” 

Lestrade gave both of them a long look, smiled to himself, and left.


	3. The Scent of an Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Te quiero abrazar ansío tu calor / Te quiero mirar / Es lo que mas deceo_ \- Intocable ( _I want to hug you, longing for your warmth / I want to gaze at you / It's what I desire the most_ )
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stake-out and chase scene! But since everybody is here for the romance...

Once Lestrade left, Sherlock turned back to John, almost smiling. He had never been this close to an omega before, and he couldn’t deny that it felt pretty good so far. John was quiet, interesting, and strangely, seemed to belong there. Keeping him around till the case was over wouldn’t be a hardship. 

John asked quietly, “Are you going to the inn?” 

“Yes. It starts getting active around 8.” 

No. John’s heart constricted painfully. He couldn’t let Sherlock go alone. It was too dangerous. 

“You’re going after murderers?” 

“Just one, the man with the tattoo. The other two are in the address book and if I know Lestrade, he’s set shadows on them by now. Once we arrest Mr Octopus Tattoo, Scotland Yard is standing by to pick them up for questioning.” 

“I’m going with you.”

Sherlock stopped and stared at him. “John, you haven’t recovered yet. And you can’t go out in my pajamas!”

John looked down at himself, realising that Sherlock was right. “I can buy some clothes.” Then he suddenly looked abashed. “I mean, you could buy me clothes. We have time.” 

John looked at Sherlock pleadingly, blue eyes moist under curling lashes. 

Sherlock blinked at the unexpected onslaught of cuteness. “Hmm. I’m not convinced it’s safe for you, John. If they recognize you or even guess that you’re an omega, you’ll be a target.” 

“You saw the suspect in one video, for about 3 seconds. I’ve seen him in person. Tell me I won’t be useful.”

“Three seconds are quite enough for me, John. I have an eidetic memory.” 

“Please?”

Sherlock looked at John, slight and vulnerable in a pair of pajamas too large for him, sleeves rolled up, pajama bottoms turned up, the top hanging halfway to his knees. He had shaved off the stubble, revealing soft skin and the face of an angel. A very youthful angel. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize we are going to a gambling den which will be full of alphas. A place that holds bad memories for you.”

“Yes. If you’re with me, I can do this. I want to do this. I want to help.” John’s lips thinned in determination. That was something Sherlock could appreciate. 

“Well, I hope you’re right. If we screw this up, Lestrade won’t let me back on a crime scene for months. All right, let’s go. Let me get you a jacket first. And, I think I’d better get my gun.”

“Do you shoot?”

“Not much. I can shoot, but that’s about it. Got it from a grateful client a couple of weeks ago, and haven’t had a chance to check it out.”

“Lestrade doesn’t know I have it," he added gleefully. “He would never let me near a crime scene with a gun! Let me get the overcoat. It’ll cover most of you, and the shop isn’t far.” 

“What kind of client gave you a gun?” 

“The father of a murdered soldier,” Sherlock said soberly and John nodded in understanding, remembering James. 

Sherlock quickly dressed and came out, carrying a long, light, olive overcoat that fell a few inches below John’s knees. He helped John into the coat and buttoned it up. His hands tingled every time he touched John. Interesting. The omega smelled far too delicious for Sherlock’s good. Well, he’d have to do something about that before they went out that evening. 

He pulled on his Belstaff, took the keys, checked that his wallet was in his pocket and said, “Let’s go.” 

The closest store was M&S. It would have to do for now, but Sherlock was definitely going to take John to Saville Row later.  
Sherlock shook his head, doing a mental double take. Where did that thought come from? The only place Sherlock was going to take John after the case was the omega auction. The last thing he wanted was an omega living with him, wasn’t it? In the meantime, he could afford to be generous. And a well-groomed omega would fetch a higher price at the auction, Sherlock told himself.

John picked up a few trousers and shirts and went into the changing area. Sherlock followed, of course. He didn’t want any stray alphas trying to harass John.

After years of wearing patched shirts and trousers, John felt like a kid in a candy shop. He picked up shirts and trousers and jackets and tried them on, relying on Sherlock’s expression to decide whether to select the item or not.

After a few aborted tries that had Sherlock shake his head, John finally came out in jeans and a blue polo shirt, looking young and collegiate. Sherlock gave that a thumbs-up, and John’s eyes lighted up. “Let’s go buy these. I can change here.”

“Don’t be an idiot. We aren’t going to come back to buy clothes for you every day! Pick out enough to start a wardrobe. Let’s see, you need trousers, jeans, shirts, T-shirts, underwear, socks, shoes…”

“But, but that’ll cost a fortune! And, and I can’t repay you… but I could take part time jobs, if you let me,” John faltered and looked away.

He looked up to find Sherlock looking steadily at him, and his lashes dropped at the laser intensity of the alpha’s gaze.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “You do need clothes for even part-time jobs, you know. I am pretty sure they won’t let you walk dogs in the nude.”

John looked up and burst into laughter. Sherlock joined in, and felt as if some invisible barrier had come down.

Once past that hurdle, Sherlock started actually enjoying himself, a bit. The whole shopping thing was immeasurably boring, but John modelling shirts and trousers and jackets for him with trusting eyes made it worthwhile, and then some. They ended up buying not only the deep reds and purples and emerald greens that were in fashion for omegas, but several less colourful outfits as well, for the times when John would prefer not to stand out as an omega. Although Sherlock couldn’t imagine how that would work. John’s eyes alone made him stand out in the crowd, not to speak of his golden hair and sweet face.

They returned to 221B, Baker Street, laden down with bags.

Sherlock flopped onto the sofa. “God that was boring!”

John gave him an amused smile. “You hate shopping. Thank you for coming with me. And for buying me all these clothes.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you go alone.” That sounded too much like a possessive alpha and Sherlock quickly backtracked, “I mean, you can come and go as you please when you’re fully recovered, of course.” 

The amusement in John’s eyes deepened and Sherlock found himself returning the grin. 

“Tea?” 

“In a moment. I think I deserve a reward for this afternoon’s exertions, don’t you?”

John looked at Sherlock, puzzled. 

Before he chickened out, Sherlock quickly said, “Come here.” He had to do this. John’s scent had been driving him crazy all day. He couldn’t think. 

John walked over. Sherlock reached out, took his hand and pulled him closer till he was standing between Sherlock’s knees. That wasn’t close enough. Sherlock drew him down till John was practically sitting in his lap, then buried his nose in John’s neck and took a deep breath. He growled and pulled John closer till there was hardly any space between their bodies, and licked up his neck. John moaned and shivered.

Sherlock tugged at the collar of John’s T-shirt and licked at the scent gland on his neck. This was uncharted territory for Sherlock. Omegas, both women and men had made passes at him, but none of them had smelled so distracting! John made a slight mewling sound that went straight to Sherlock’s groin. Sherlock suddenly stilled as all the blood in his body seemed to rush southwards.

He pulled back. “Oh.” 

John felt something poking him in the thigh and froze, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. 

Sherlock carefully moved John away, got up and walked to the window. 

“Sherlock.” 

Sherlock didn’t answer. 

John took his courage in both hands and said boldly, “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” 

Sherlock turned and gave him a look of utter bewilderment. 

John sighed. “Can I go into the kitchen now? I think we need some tea.”

Sherlock snapped back into himself. “Yes. Better steer clear of anything you don’t recognize, though. We’ll clear out the experiments later – you’ll need the kitchen, I’m guessing.” 

John smiled. “I like to cook,” he said simply.

Sherlock sat back down and watched John make tea, frowning. This was getting complicated too fast. Whatever was he thinking? This was meant to be a temporary arrangement. He was supposed to be selling John at auction after the case was over, not buying him a new wardrobe, promising to clear out the kitchen for him, and definitely not… whatever it was they had just done. 

But at the same time…. sell John at an omega auction? Not on your life. Omega auctions were terrible. He could not put John through that again.  
There was another solution - he could emancipate John. He was sure Lestrade would find John a job. John wouldn’t have to depend on an alpha anymore. A reasonable plan, but why did Sherlock feel dissatisfied? 

That evening, they both got ready. John wore olive trousers and an olive and brown checked shirt, the farthest possible from an omega costume, and the closest to army camouflage he could get. Before John got dressed, though, Sherlock pulled out a can of scent suppressant, and carefully sprayed it all over him, particularly on the scent glands at his neck. “That should hold you for 4-5 hours. No one will know you’re an omega.”

_And it’ll keep me from getting distracted._

He also took out a tube of hair mascara and ran it through John’s short hair till the gold was subdued into a soft brown. John stood silent and trusting under Sherlock’s hands. 

“That’ll do,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

“I think I should carry the gun. Lestrade won’t suspect me of carrying one.”

Sherlock looked at him consideringly, then handed the gun over. John took it firmly from Sherlock, as if his hand recognised a familiar weight, and slipped it into his overcoat. 

The gambling den was, as Sherlock expected, loud and noisy and filled with alphas. He had an irrational desire to put his arm around John and hold him close to his side, but he repressed it. John stayed close behind him anyway, and every now and then his fingers brushed against Sherlock’s, which helped. Lestrade and Sherlock were dressed in jeans and denim jackets, Sherlock’s hair tamed with gel and restrained with a baseball cap. They sat down at a table where a game of poker was going on. John sat on a low chair behind him, occasionally touching Sherlock’s shoulder or hand when the smell of the other alphas became overwhelming. 

The table was set near the wall, and from his chair, John could see most of the casino, and the doors leading to it. He kept an eye on the doors. So could Sherlock, but he put his trust in John and focused on the game. Which was in a word, unusual. Sherlock trusted nobody. The Yarders were moronic at the best of times, and although Lestrade was the best of the bunch and he had known him for three years, Sherlock realized he trusted John more than Lestrade. Sherlock pulled his focus back to the game from the fascinating creature sitting just behind him. 

Sherlock never gambled, mostly as it wasn’t any fun. Winning games like poker was laughably easy for someone who could read faces like others read books. Pretty soon, a decent pile of chips had grown next to him and the other players were beginning to look wary. 

At the end of that round, Sherlock gathered up his chips and said, “I need a break. Do carry on without me.” 

Lestrade took the cue and gathered up his own chips. “Yeah, me too.” 

Sherlock stuffed his chips into his jacket pocket. The three of them found a low table just out of sight of the door. Lestrade brought drinks for all of them, whiskeys for himself and Sherlock, and a light beer for John. They waited. 

Sherlock suddenly felt John brace himself, and covered John’s hand with him on the table. John was shaking. “John?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Sorry, sorry.” 

Sherlock realised the alpha scents were getting to John. He himself didn’t like the amount of testosterone in the room.  
John’s voice was so heartbreaking Sherlock was tempted to sweep him into his arms, but of course that wasn’t possible. He held his own drink out. “Have this. It’s stronger than the beer.” 

John picked up the whiskey and sipped cautiously at it. Within minutes, the alcohol did its work and he relaxed. 

Sherlock went back to casually chatting with Lestrade while keeping an eye on the casino. 

“Sherlock.” 

“John?”

“That’s him. The guy who just came in. He’s alone.” 

Sherlock looked up casually. A tall guy in jeans and a subdued jacket had walked in the door. Both Sherlock and Lestrade opened up their phones on which they had saved the video. 

That was him, beyond a doubt. Lestrade messaged his team waiting outside. In a couple of minutes, four unassuming looking betas entered. 

Lestrade got up and joined them. They accosted the suspect quietly and for a few seconds it looked like the arrest would be smooth and painless, but suddenly the suspect broke away and ran to the door. A roar rose as the gamblers realized something was happening. 

Sherlock was through the door a second behind the suspect. Sherlock was fast, but the long legged man seemed to fly. Suddenly there was a single crack and the suspect fell to the ground, screaming. Sherlock whipped around to see John slipping a gun back into his overcoat. Lestrade and his minions came hurtling through the door and had the handcuffs on the suspect in an instant. Other cops ran through the alley and locked the doors of the inn. 

For a minute, Sherlock and John were alone. 

Sherlock stared at John. “That…”

“…never happened.” 

Sherlock smiled. His omega was a treasure. How did he ever get so lucky? “Yes, of course.” 

The suspect was dragged away, cursing and limping. 

Lestrade turned and came back to them. 

“Good shot. Just a flesh wound. But you can’t shoot suspects, Sherlock!” 

“Me?” Sherlock thrust his hands under Lestrade’s nose. “Do you smell powder burns? I don’t carry guns, Lestrade. You were supposed to be the muscle in this stake-out.” 

Lestrade grabbed Sherlock’s hands and sniffed them. There wasn’t the slightest hint of powder burns. Even if Sherlock had worn gloves there would have been a hint of powder burns, and of course he hadn’t had enough time to pull them on or off. “Who did, then? Did you see anything?” 

“No, the shot came from behind me.” Sherlock looked back at the alley. “I couldn’t leave John,” he said, with a very good imitation of helplessness.

Lestrade ran back along the alley. Sherlock looked at John, who still looked harmless and angelic. He reached out and pulled John into his arms so that John could allow his alpha’s scent to calm him. But John wasn’t shaking, not a bit. He didn’t seem to mind, though, so Sherlock lowered his head to kiss John on the cheek and kept his arms around him. 

_This could become a habit._

Lestrade ran back. “I can’t see a thing. The alley is fully paved – no footprints.” 

He sighed. “Let’s cash in our chips and then you lovebirds can go home. I'll send you the paperwork later. John, thank you. We wouldn’t have solved this without your help.” 

John nodded. As an omega, he had the choice of extending his hand to Lestrade for a goodbye hand shake, but he didn’t, conscious of the powder burns. Lestrade didn’t seem to notice. 

When the staff at the gambling hell realized it wasn’t a raid, they were only too happy to cash out the chips and get the coppers out of there. 

In a few minutes, Sherlock and John were in a taxi, on their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a bit of angst in the next chapter, but on the bright side, it will be a short one!


	4. When the Heart Breaks, the Omega Will Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He pulled away from me so harshly / that Life itself threw up her hands in despair_ \- ancient Urdu ghazal. 
> 
> The growing camaraderie between Sherlock and John is threatened. Sigh. When will our boys learn to talk to each other? A short chapter, containing a tiny angst-fest.
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a big thank you to all my readers, and for all the lovely comments and kudos! They keep me going even when real life becomes a bother. Thank you!!!

John and Sherlock ran up the stairs of 221B. John didn’t remember feeling this alive ever before. Sherlock unlocked the door and flopped down on the sofa. 

“John, John, John – you amazing man!” 

John blushed and went into the kitchen. “Tea?” 

“Yes, please. Do we have Earl Grey?” 

John rummaged about in the cupboards and found a box. “I found it!” 

He then realized Sherlock was right behind him. Sherlock’s arms went around him and he pulled down John’s shirt a little, to press his lips to John’s scent gland. “The perfume is wearing off. Mmmm…” 

John smiled and continued to fill the kettle and set it for boiling as Sherlock hung over him like a huge snuggly blanket. 

“Where did you learn to shoot?” 

“Before we bonded, James taught me how to shoot. I became quite good. After he died, a friend of his let me practice at his shooting range for free. I worked part-time there for two years as a demonstrator. I was quite popular, in fact.” 

“I bet you were. And you smell so good! Other omegas don’t smell this good. Why not? I need more data!” 

John stiffened and moved away. He leaned against a cabinet and glared at Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked bewildered. “What did I say?” 

“No, it’s all right. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not all right, obviously.”

John turned away.

There was silence for a bit as Sherlock thought. 

“Oh. You don’t want me trying to scent another omega.” 

“Brilliant,” John said, unable to keep quiet. 

Sherlock laughed. “Not good?” 

“A bit not good, yeah.” 

“I didn’t mean… umm… yes actually I did mean that, I suppose. But only for an experiment! I’ve never met an omega who smelt as delicious as you before.” 

“Not all omegas smell good to all alphas. That’s how you check if you’re compatible. And that’s one of the reasons why omega auctions are such a bad thing, because they don’t let the alphas scent the omegas and vice versa.”

Sherlock pulled away thoughtfully and stepped out of the kitchen, leaving John to make the tea. He flopped down on the sofa again. “John!” 

“Yes?” 

“How do I smell to you?”

John came out and handed over a cup of tea to Sherlock and sat down himself. He smiled, “Safe, warm. Like home. I can’t compare you with any alphas for a while, Sherlock – you’re the only one whose scent I can stand for now.” But that wasn’t the whole truth. He did remember how it had felt with James. It was a pale shadow of the connection he felt with Sherlock, and they weren’t even bonded. And his discomfort with other alphas was fading away as he felt safer.

But John did not know whether Sherlock felt it too. And he was dying to know. His whole future depended on it, literally.

Sherlock grinned boyishly. “Let’s keep it that way.” 

“Why? Are you jealous?”

Sherlock pondered that for a bit. “I’m not sure. But I don’t like the idea of you scenting another alpha.” 

“Then let’s not have any talk of you scenting any omegas either.” 

Sherlock grinned. “Has anyone told you that you look adorable when you’re jealous?” 

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock grinned again, feeling pretty pleased with himself. 

“Do you want to watch crap telly with me?”

Sherlock turned the television on and started surfing channels on mute. 

John sat down next to him. “What’s crap telly?” 

“Pretty much anything, to be honest. But the reality shows are the funniest.”

“How did you start watching crap telly? Doesn’t seem like you, somehow.” 

“Mrs Hudson, my housekeeper, watches it all the time. She lives in the flat below and looks after me. And you too, now. She’s away visiting her sister but will be back soon. You’ll like her.” 

Sherlock stopped channel surfing at a reality show on infidelity and spent the next 45 minutes deducing who was cheating and who wasn’t, and hitting the jackpot every time. John leaned back against Sherlock and giggled through the whole thing, exclaiming “Amazing” or “fantastic” every time Sherlock made a particularly clever deduction. Both were in splits by the time the show ended, helplessly clinging to each other. 

John looked at the time. It was nearly midnight. Not that he had anything to do the next day, but still. Old habits die hard. “Sherlock.” 

“Hmm?”

“It’s midnight. Time to sleep.” 

“Oh yes, of course. You need to sleep. Go on, then. I’ll finish up that monograph on tobacco ash I’ve been dying to read.” 

“Sherlock. You need to sleep too. You must be exhausted.” 

Sherlock made a rude noise. “I slept on Wednesday. I’m good.”

“That was two days ago!” 

“Yes. So?”

“Sherlock, you have to sleep! Do you know what the human brain starts doing after two sleepless nights?”

“No. What does it do, doc?”

“Please, Sherlock. You need to sleep.” John felt about ready to weep in frustration. How could he take care of his alpha if the alpha wouldn’t let him and was so negligent about his health?

“Don’t waste your time, John.”

John steeled himself. “I swear I won’t let you near me tomorrow if you don’t sleep now, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock stilled. One look at his face, and John knew he had put his foot in it. 

“That’s up to you.” Sherlock said coldly. “I’m going to read in my room.” 

And Sherlock was gone. 

The room was suddenly cold, colder than it had any right to be in March. John felt tired, the exhaustion of days overtaking him. He felt deflated, like the only thing keeping him standing was Sherlock’s presence. 

John stretched out on the sofa. He was still wearing his street clothes and they chafed him, but he couldn’t summon the energy to get up and change. He managed to kick off his shoes, though, and tucked his feet under him. There was a duvet at the other end of the sofa. Perhaps Sherlock had sat there last night. Doing what? Did he stay up the whole night waiting for John to wake up? Did he check up on John in the middle of the night to see if he was ok? 

John’s eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t usually weepy, but he had been put through hell the past month, his heat wasn’t too far away and he had just lost an incredible, brilliant alpha that he was strongly attracted to. Oh, more than that. Sherlock was the only alpha who had looked at him and really seen him as a person. James had cared for him, in a kind, general way, but it was never a relationship based on love. James needed an omega, as all alphas did, and John needed an out from his abusive home. Before Sherlock, no one had ever looked at him with affection, listened to him, cared for him. And this miracle would be lost to him because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. 

He started shivering. He wanted to reach for the duvet, but didn’t have the energy to move. Tears trickled down the side of his nose onto the sofa. He had ruined everything. Sherlock was the best thing that had happened to him for a very long time, and now it was all over. His father was right. He was useless. He had no skills, no knowledge. He could run a house, but even that would be denied him. Sherlock would probably sell him at the auction tomorrow and that would be the end of it. The thought of leaving Sherlock sent a pang so sharp through him that he almost gasped. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” 

John looked up, startled. Sherlock was standing over him, looking exasperated. “I thought you were going to bed?” 

John couldn’t reply. Sherlock knelt in front of the sofa so that they were eye to eye. “How are you feeling?” 

John shut his eyes to stop the tears and muttered, “Tired.” 

“The drugs are probably still in your system. John, you’re a moron. Get up.” 

John shook his head. He couldn’t get up. His arms and legs refused to obey him. He had never felt this much fatigue before. 

“John.” And Sherlock’s hand was on John’s cheek. “You are crying.”

“No.” John muttered. He hadn’t cried when his father had broken his arm. He hadn’t cried when his mother died. He hadn’t cried when his sister left home for ever. He never cried. He was just tired. 

Suddenly Sherlock was picking him and carrying him to the bedroom like some clichéd bride. Sherlock laid him down, helped him undress and pull on a pair of soft pajamas. He then pulled the duvet over John and tucked him in. “Let me turn off the lights. I’ll be back.” 

Presently he heard Sherlock coming back, turning off the lights, and then he was getting into bed too. It was still cold, but it would warm up quickly, with their shared body heat. John reached out to touch Sherlock’s hand and was reassured when Sherlock took his small hand in his own larger one and gave it a squeeze. Emboldened, John curled up closer to Sherlock and was rewarded with Sherlock’s arm going around him. 

“I’m sorry.” John murmured. 

“What?”

He lifted his head. “I said I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s arm tightened around him reassuringly. “It’s all right. It’s just – all this is very new to me. Emotions are not my thing. I can’t play back, you know. I don’t know the rules.” 

John didn’t reply. He was too busy silently cursing himself. 

“I know how people react under different circumstances, of course. I can see their motivations. I can even pretend to act like them for short periods when it’s needed for a case. But it’s like being a drama critic – I can judge human behaviour, but it’s another story when I am involved myself.” 

“Sherlock, don’t say that. You’re human. And you’re so very kind to me. You can’t make me believe you don’t have a heart.” His voice broke, “I just didn’t think. My omega brain just needed to take care of you.” 

“I’m… I’m sorry, too. I realize you were looking out for my welfare. We’ll work it out together. Millions of alpha-omega couples live together without killing each other, how hard can it be? Although for full disclosure, some of them do kill each other, and some even do it in interesting ways, bless them.”

John giggled. 

“Now shut up and go to sleep. Idiot.” Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s forehead. 

John snuggled closer, a great sense of calm filling him. He slept.


	5. Blast from the past?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fisi hali watoto wake._ (A hyena does not eat its offspring) - Old Swahili proverb
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

Sherlock woke up, feeling disoriented. Sunlight was streaming through the window which meant he had actually slept through the whole night. Something seemed to be missing, though. And he suddenly remembered. John – John had slept in his bed, practically in his arms all night. Where was he?

And then Sherlock remembered their conversation from the night before, where he had almost called them a couple. Or had he? Sherlock tried to retrieve the exact words from his mind palace, but some of it was very fuzzy, between the overwhelming feelings of protectiveness and affection that the scent of John’s tears had produced. 

But if he had, was that such a bad thing? Sherlock had never thought of mating, but then he had never met anyone like John before. John, living with him at 221B, making tea for him, sleeping in his bed. It didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. 

On the other hand, John living alone, or with another alpha, both those pictures just seemed wrong. But bonding? Children? Sherlock shuddered. He had never expected to bond. He didn’t want to bond. As a matter of fact, the idea of bonding terrified him. 

But where was John? 

“John??!” 

“Here! In the kitchen!” 

Sherlock got up, pulled on his dressing gown and came out to where John was pottering about in the kitchen. “Tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He moved to his usual chair, then realized if he sat down, the floral chair would block his view to the kitchen. And right now he wanted to see John. He lifted himself up gracefully and sat up on the back of the chair so he could still see John. He scanned the smaller man carefully. Colour good, eyes bright, the lines on his face smoothed out, he looked well rested and happy. 

John looked up and smiled, “Case today, Sherlock?”

“No, but we should go out.” 

“Go out where?”

“There’s this nice Italian restaurant nearby. I know the owner. How about we go out for lunch, and then visit Bart’s?

“Bart’s?” 

“I have a couple of old friends I’d like you to meet.” 

“Oh. What should I wear?” 

“Hmmm…,” Sherlock looked John up and down and tried to remember the new clothes they had bought together. “Those deep brown corduroys, cream shirt and Moncler jacket.”

John smiled. It was always a good sign if the alpha was interested in what you wore. “Care for some toast?” 

“With honey, yes.” Sherlock gave him a melting look, his eyes going large and blue under thick lashes. 

John shook his head, half breathless at Sherlock’s beauty, half laughing at his camp acting. “Well, there’s no honey in the house, so unless you want to give me your wallet and let me go shopping…” 

“Wallet! And you also need a mobile phone, a bank account and a credit card. John, why didn’t you remind me?” 

John looked at him blankly. “Uh… I didn’t realize you meant to give me…” He averted his eyes. He didn’t like this, not at all. For the umpteenth time he cursed the legal and social rules that kept omegas from most gainful employment, and prevented them from earning enough money to live on. He was forever dependent, and the worst part was he wasn’t even sure what his latest owner meant to do with him. Sherlock had been quite affectionate, especially last night, but he had said nothing explicitly about bonding. 

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked curiously. “Don’t omegas get their own money?”

“Umm… it depends, really. I had an add-on credit card when James was deployed, but James didn’t like me using it when we were together.”

Sherlock stared at him. “No bank account?”

“No. I had no funds, no identity but that of a soldier’s omega husband.” 

“But omegas are allowed to hold property, even when they are not emancipated.” 

“Is that the law? I didn’t know. I just thought that was the way things were.” 

Sherlock stared. Now wasn’t that moronic? Omegas were a good 20% of the population. Keeping them powerless was such a waste of potential. Not that Sherlock cared for that, but really, there were enough dull morons in the world already without condemning 20% of the population to ignorance. For all one knew, there were bright sparks among the omegas, who, given an education and some freedom, would do interesting stuff. Maybe even commit crimes, or solve crimes, or create puzzles for Sherlock’s brain to grapple with. Such a waste of talent. Although he had to confess John was quite an interesting puzzle all on his lonesome. 

Sherlock couldn’t do very much about all the other omegas in the world. But he could and would do something about John. No one so alive and interesting should be allowed to rot in the dark. And the first thing he would do is ensure John never had to ask anyone, including Sherlock, for money. Whether they bonded or not. Hmm... he had an idea. He needed to make a couple of calls, though to his friends at Bart's. 

“In theory, omegas can hold property in their own name. Have you never known omegas who owned property?”

“No one among my schoolmates, to be sure. We all of us just had 8 years of schooling, anyway. Not enough for any paying jobs. None of them worked after school, as I remember. I was one of the luckier ones. Father wanted me to earn money, so after I graduated from school, I worked part time with some interesting people – learned a bit. There was also this professor who got me a lifetime membership card at the town library. I liked reading, and the library also gave me access to the Internet. I can’t complain.” 

“Can’t complain? John, if you were an alpha you would be a doctor by now, wouldn’t you?”

John looked stricken. 

Sherlock felt as if he had kicked a confiding puppy. He got up, climbed over the tea table, walked into the kitchen and took John into his arms, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You know I’m just angry on your behalf, don’t you?” 

John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and breathed in his alpha’s scent. “Yes, I know.”

Sherlock wondered at this odd tendency on his part to hug John on little or no excuse. But John didn’t seem to mind, if that happy little sigh was any indication. 

Angelo’s was mostly empty, which Sherlock had banked upon. Angelo’s was busier on nights and weekends, when people had time to sit down and eat. Weekday lunches weren’t fancy affairs in general, and it wasn’t as if Angelo’s was situated near corporate offices, which had the potential of business lunches. 

Billy moved forward as soon as he saw Sherlock. “Mr Holmes! Such a pleasure to have you here again!” 

“Thanks, Billy. The corner table again, please. And a menu.”

“Of course.” 

Billy led them both to the table and pulled out John’s chair for him. John shrugged a little at that and sat down. Sherlock grinned at that - his omega didn't like to be treated as fragile. 

He looked much recovered from his ordeal of the past month. His skin was glowing, the little lines of worry on his forehead were smoothed out, and color had returned to his lips and cheeks. He looked more boyish than ever and Sherlock repressed an urge to reach out and touch John’s face. There would be time for that later and more, in the privacy of their own home. The strength of the yearning was a surprise. He had never felt this kind of attraction before. Was it because, in his own mind, John was already his? John attracted him far more strongly than he liked. But Sherlock was well aware that there was no way he could keep John without bonding. But he wasn’t ready for that step. He did not even know what that entailed. 

John raised his eyebrows at him questioningly. Sherlock shooke his head. “Just happy to see you so looking so much better.” 

“Yes, I feel much better. I think the drugs are finally out of my system, but…”

“But?”

“They took me off suppressants and my heat is due in 2 weeks. My first since James was deployed, four years ago. It’s going to be difficult.” 

“We should see a doctor, find out ways to make it easier for you.” 

“Yes, thank you.” John tamped down the disappointment he felt. That wasn’t quite the response he had expected. But, on the other hand, Sherlock’s words seemed to indicate John would still be with him after two weeks, which didn’t seem to imply rejection. 

They ordered garlic bread for starters, wild mushroom penne for Sherlock, ricotta & spinach ravioli for John, and a bottle of red wine. Billy took their orders and disappeared into the kitchen. 

John was looking outside the window at the people walking by. He must have seen something that angered him, though, because he turned away, and Sherlock saw his fingers clench. He looked up at the window to see two young alphas staring through the window at John. Sherlock sat up, leaned back and glared at the boys. They suddenly noticed him, looked flustered and ran off. 

“I’m sorry, John. This place is a little too visible from the street. Should we move to a table inside?” 

“No, no. It’s fine. They are hardly going to walk in to try and molest me.” John laughed. 

“No, of course not.” Sherlock said absently. He needed to talk to Angelo. 

Sherlock excused himself and went through the rear door into the kitchen. Three kitchen staff were busy getting ready. The door to the storage opened and Angelo came out. “Angelo!” 

“Sherlock!” Angelo practically bounded between the worktables and threw himself at Sherlock, hugging him. Sherlock braced himself and patted Angelo on the back. 

“You finally came!” 

Billy walked by, grinning, “And with a date, Uncle! A cute omega!” 

Angelo attacked Sherlock again. “I must meet this date of yours! I never thought I’d see the day someone would steal your heart. He must be special!” 

“Very special, Angelo. And that’s why I came here – to ask if you could make that special tiramisu of yours, with Irish cream and Kahlua. And come and meet John. I want him to meet all my friends.”

Angelo almost looked a little tearful at Sherlock calling him his friend. Sherlock had never done that in the three years they had known each other. “Of course I will. Now you should go back before someone steals him! I will follow in 5 minutes.” 

Sherlock returned. As soon as he neared the door, he knew something was wrong. John’s scent was off. He practically ran through the door, then stopped. John was standing up and an older man who looked strangely familiar was pulling at John’s arm. “Come on, Johnny! You know I have the law on my side!” 

Sherlock suddenly realized why the man looked familiar. The family resemblance was strong. So this was John’s father, the one who had staked him for a bet. 

Sherlock was tempted to bodily throw the man out of the restaurant. He could easily do that. Although an alpha, the man would be no match for a taller, younger, stronger alpha, especially someone protecting his territory. 

But however despicable, this man was John’s family. Sherlock needed to tread carefully. 

“No, you don’t!,” John hissed, “The right of omega recovery only belongs to alpha parents or siblings who have given the omegas under their guardianship honourably to another alpha. Any alpha who sells or stakes or gives away his omega other than in marriage loses the right to recover the omega. Take your hand off my arm!” 

Sherlock walked up to the table. “Well, well. Mr Watson, senior, I assume? I’ve always been curious about what kind of man could wager away his own flesh and blood. Interesting.” 

The older man turned to look at him. John gasped. 

Sherlock sat down. “What were you saying about omega recovery?”

His eyes scanned the older man, taking in the signs of poverty and neglect. John’s father looked a bit like him, only much taller and bigger, with gray hair and faded blue eyes. His lips had the darker tinge and lines of a heavy smoker. His suit was frayed in places, and his shoes were dirty. 

“You should know! If an omega is pressed into immorality, their alpha guardian is allowed to recover them!” 

“What immorality do you imagine John is indulging in?”

“Well, he’s clearly walking the street, dressed like that! Where else would he get the money for those clothes?” 

Sherlock grinned wolfishly, and the older man flinched. “From me. The night you staked him, his last winner sold him to an omega house, from where I bought him two days ago. If you want to know who has the rights to him now, I do.” 

“You bought him from an omega house? I was going to win him back as soon as I found him!”

“A pity you’re such a bad poker player then, Mr Watson. But I have absolutely no intention of staking John at a game or giving him up.”

John tried to shake off his father’s hand and pull away. 

Sherlock growled. “You might as well let him go. Any lawyer will tell you that you have no legal rights anymore. What you’re trying to do now is kidnapping, and John is quite capable of defending himself, as you’ll find out if you don’t release him.” 

The older man released John as if he had been struck. “And who are you?” 

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. I work with the police as a consultant. And you are Jacob Watson, 68 years old, a widower. You disowned your eldest daughter when she fell in love with a beta woman. You had a moderately successful career as a railway engineer but you were fired when you turned up drunk at work once too often. Since then you’ve been frittering away your savings and your father’s legacy on drink and betting. The only power you had in your life was the power you held over your younger child. Now that you have lost it, you want him back.” 

Jacob flinched and sat back heavily on a chair. “You… how do you know all that? You are the devil himself!” 

“Father!” 

Jacob looked up. John looked fiercer than Sherlock had ever seen him. 

“Father – you will apologize to Sherlock or you’ll never see me again!” 

Jacob’s head dropped on his breast and he sat there silently for a few seconds. John looked at Sherlock desperately and Sherlock nodded reassuringly. 

Then Jacob raised his head and looked at Sherlock. “I apologize. I crossed the line. You are a very intelligent man, Mr Holmes.” 

“And a very kind one, father!” John walked across to Sherlock and Sherlock naturally put his arm around him and tugged him close. 

“Sherlock, would you mind… would you mind if I visited my father?”

“No, but only if you really want to.” 

“Well, he is the only family I have left. And I’m the only family he has.” 

“Here.” Sherlock took out his card, wrote down their address and handed it over to John, who added his own new mobile number and handed it to his father. Jacob looked at it carefully and put it away. 

“I won’t stand between the two of you, Mr Watson.” But even as he said the words, Sherlock pulled John possessively closer to him. “But if you harm him in the slightest, you’ll regret it. Deeply.”

Jacob looked defeated and said nothing, just looked at John pitifully. 

“Did you have lunch yet, father?”

“Yes. Yes, I ate at home. I won’t keep you from yours.” Jacob Watson got up and left the restaurant, walking slowly. 

Sherlock knew that was a lie. But he didn’t see any signs of actual starvation, so he decided to let it go. There would be time to investigate Jacob Watson’s circumstances later.


	6. How to Make Friends and Influence People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Friends Are There To Help You Get Started, To Give You A Push On Your Way. Friends Are There / To Turn You Around, Get Your Feet On The Ground For A Brand New Day_ \- Garfield and Friends.
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far! You guys are the best!
> 
> Only a few more chapters to go... will update once a week. :)

Molly Hooper was in the lab when they got there. Sherlock had wondered if it was a good idea to introduce John to Molly, who had had a blatant crush on him for years, despite Sherlock’s brusque manner. But Molly was sweet and John would need friends other than himself for support. Sherlock knew he could be a difficult man to live with. Plus, meeting John might help Molly get over her crush. 

Molly looked up from her file and smiled brightly. “Sherlock?” 

“Good afternoon, Molly. I wanted you to meet John. John Watson. John, this is Molly Hooper, one of the pathologists here and an old friend.” 

Of course Molly knew who John was. Sally Donovan had come down to the lab the day before to collect an autopsy result, and had regaled Molly with the tale of Sherlock and the slave omega he had bought. She didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. She had seen slave omegas before. They had looked beaten, starved, unkempt. John Watson, although thin, was glowing, obviously happy, and dressed to the nines in clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an advertisement. Molly must have stared at him a bit too long, because the omega began to look uncomfortable. Sherlock must have picked up on it too, as he put an arm around John’s shoulders. 

Well, that was unexpected. If Molly had not known anything of the background of the case, she would have assumed they were a real couple. But Sally Donovan had been very sure of the story, and Sally wouldn’t lie, even if she hated Sherlock. 

Molly’s heart twisted in her chest but she smiled shyly. “Of course! I’m so pleased to meet you!” Molly held her hand out, which, although enthusiastic, was a breach in etiquette, as in all social interactions, it was the omega who decided whether to hold out their hand for a handshake. The omega took it, looking a bit bewildered, but with a firm, callused grip and a gentle, uncertain smile. 

“Molly, I am supposed to meet Professor Green in the lab in a few minutes – I need to consult him on a slightly tricky issue of coagulation and chemicals. Could you give John a tour? I’ll meet you back here in 30 minutes.” 

“Of course!” 

Sherlock swanned out of the lab, his coat swirling behind him, and John looked a little bereft. 

Molly laughed to break the tension, “If I know Sherlock he probably sneaked you in through the side door.” 

John grinned at her. He didn’t deny it. 

“So the first stop, I think, the main entrance and the lobby! The next time you come here, you’ll know your way around.” 

“Thanks, Miss Hooper.” And as Molly gathered up her files and ushered him out, “Does Sherlock think I’ll come here without him?”

“Anything’s possible with Sherlock. I’m sure you’ve gathered that. But please, call me Molly.”

“Yes, he’s surprising, in some ways. Pardon, you’ve known him for years. What kind of man is he?”

“He’s nice, sometimes. When he wants something from you. But most of the time, you know, he doesn’t care about anything other than the work.”

Molly made the mistake of looking at John when she said that and was startled at the expression in his eyes. “But I’m sure he’ll change now that he has got you,” she said, painfully aware that she had put her foot in it. As usual. 

She changed the subject quickly as they approached the ancient and rather dingy lobby. She took John outside, helping him get his bearings, and then the two of them went off at a brisk walk as she showed him the Medical school building, the canteen, the classrooms. 

John was rapt in wonder as he peeked into the classrooms quietly and saw the whiteboards, the screens, the professor gesticulating, and best of all, the students, listening quietly. What he wouldn’t do to be one of them. But he could never study here. He wouldn’t be allowed to sit among the alphas. 

He felt a hand touching his own. Molly smiled at him, “Do you like the college so far?”

“It's brilliant. I wish omegas were allowed to attend college.” John said wistfully. 

“There are omega-only classes.” 

“Really? Where?” 

“Right here, in Bart’s. Just a small program. It was launched five years ago to introduce omegas into healthcare. There are lots of positions where an omega would be much more effective than alphas or betas. But there isn't any such program for pure research. I’ve heard rumors that some Scandinavian and some Asian universities have pure research programs for omegas, but those aren't publicised, of course.”

John shook his head. “No. Any studies would be great to start with. I had never dreamed… what kind of positions in healthcare?”

Molly looked at John’s expression and her own eyes moistened. She linked her arm in John’s affectionately and shepherded him along to the library. “Well, all healthcare directly related to Omegas’ health and fertility, for example. We need omega nurses and doctors and pathologists. Ah – here’s the library.” They opened a door and walked in. 

John breathed in deeply and looked around at the unending shelves of books reaching to the ceiling. 

“You can come here whenever you want, John. I can get you a membership card.” 

John looked at Molly gratefully, “Thank you. You really are so kind to me. I didn’t think you liked me at first, to be honest.” 

Molly shook her head. “I didn’t know you. I think I like you, John Watson.”

John smiled back, a lopsided grin of such charm that Molly figured she had solved the mystery of Sherlock’s behaviour.

When Sherlock got back, Molly and John were looking at something on her computer screen and giggling. John was giggling so badly he put his forehead on Molly’s shoulder and the two clung to each other. Sherlock felt a wave of jealousy and possessiveness rise in him. He tamped it down and smiled, “Looks like you two are getting along.”

Molly looked at him guiltily, but John smiled at him so radiantly that Sherlock felt as if the sun had come out of the clouds. 

“Come along, John. I’ll take you to meet another friend of mine.” 

“Oh yes. Molly, thank you so much! Call me if you’re free Saturday!” 

Sherlock looked puzzled. 

“Saturday?” 

“Oh yes! Molly’s taking me to meet an omega doctor who graduated from St Bart’s,” John said wonderingly. 

Sherlock looked down at Molly graciously. “Thank you, Molly. It means a lot to me that John has a friend in you.”

Molly smiled, “Yes, he’s very special.” Molly said this a little wistfully, and for the first time Sherlock felt remorse at the many times he had manipulated Molly into helping him, without taking her feelings into account. He put his arm around her and hugged her. “You’re a good friend, Molly Hooper. I don’t really deserve you.”

Molly smiled and hugged him back. “No, you don’t. Off you go.”

Mike Stamford was a shortish, stocky, bonded alpha about John’s own age, but already a professor at Bart’s. He stood up when they came in and extended his hand to Sherlock. 

“Sherlock! It’s great to see you again! And this must be John?” He didn’t extend his hand. An alpha extending a hand to an omega would be a faux pas – it was the omega who decided whether to shake hands or not. John immediately stepped forward and extended his hand for a firm handshake. As he shook Mike’s hand, he realised his strong aversion to strange alphas had dimmed. Perhaps it was because he felt safe, for the first time in years. 

Mike looked approvingly at him. “Please, do sit down.” 

Sherlock took the chair on the right, effacing himself and leaving John to take the middle chair, directly in front of Mike. 

“I got Sherlock’s text,” Mike addressed John directly. “I believe you are interested in our medical courses?”

“Yes, I would love to learn, but I am 32, and I have only 8 years of formal schooling.” 

Mike smiled at him reassuringly. “None of the omegas who come here have any more, and several are older than you. One of my students has just got a medical degree at the age of 50. She has a good 40 years of work left in her – remember alphas and omegas live longer, especially if they are happily bonded.” 

John glanced at Sherlock, but found him looking bored. He quickly turned back to Mike. 

“What classes do you think I should take? And how many years does a course take?”

“Well, we have a different course structure for omegas, since we have found omegas can’t really commit to a certain number of years of study – for various reasons. So we structure it such that every year of study results in a certificate that corresponds with a career at Bart’s and its affiliated hospitals and colleges. And of course, every year you can decide which fork in the road to take.” 

John smiled. “That’s brilliant! Must have taken quite some thinking, though!”

“Yes, exactly.” Mike reached into the shelf nearest to him and pulled out a packet. “This has all the details – prospectus, subjects, degrees, jobs corresponding with each degree at every institution in the country.” John took the packet from Mike reverently. 

“Let me add that Bart’s offers incentives to omegas joining this course, since the programme is fairly new, and demand for omega personnel is far higher than the supply. “ 

“You mean, monetary incentives?”

“It’s a mix. You get a living stipend of 500-750 pounds a month, depending on your needs, and coupons for two meals at the college canteen. We also offer safe dormitory lodging for emancipated omegas with no property.” 

“I can’t believe omegas are actually paid to study!” 

“Actually it makes a great deal of sense. It’s really hard to get omegas to join the course, and the benefits are immeasurable. The new omega staffers at St Bart’s have already proved their value several times over.” 

“Of course, a job is guaranteed if you clear the course. And the study program is flexible, so you have the option of working for us after a year of studies and continuing to study for the next level.” 

John looked down at the package as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“So, if you ever feel like getting rid of your tiresome alpha, you have a place with us.” 

Mike grinned, but Sherlock merely lifted a quizzical eyebrow at Mike and went on reading. 

Mike smiled again, then took out his card, wrote on it and handed it to John. “That has my personal mobile number. If you need any help, with anything, call or text me. I know how he is when there’s a case on – probably forgets you exist.” 

John shook his head, “No, no. That’s never happened. He’s very kind to me.” 

“Good, that’s good. But just in case, remember you can call me any time.” 

John smiled and thanked him. They left together, John holding the packet like it was a precious thing and walking on air, Sherlock unusually pensive and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Rating may go up soon!


	7. Two Minds With But Muddled Thoughts, Two Hearts That Beat As One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Does he love me I want to know_  
>  _How can I tell if he loves me so_  
>  _Is it in his eyes?_  
>  _Oh no! You'll be deceived_  
>  _Is it in his sighs?_  
>  _Oh no! He'll make believe_  
>  _If you want to know if he loves you so_  
>  _It's in his kiss_  
>  _That's where it is_ \- Betty Everett  
>    
> Three-word summary: "Those two idiots!"
> 
> Longer summary: "Sherlock suffers a painful bout of commitment phobia, rationalises it to himself, and hurts John in the process."
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - so this is me dipping a tentative toe into the swirling waters of smut. Not a great deal of smut, granted, but the fic now deserves an "Explicit" rating. First time writing any smut at all - I hope it's not utterly awful. :(

Sherlock looked out of the window. 

_Quiet, calm, peaceful. Wasn’t it hateful?_

He wanted to be anywhere but here. Here where his sanctuary had been taken over by a maddening omega. Who was right at that moment sitting in front of a table – Sherlock’s own table, by the way – that was now covered with obviously fascinating pamphlets, brochures and booklets. Who was apparently trying to read all of them at the same time, and, infuriatingly, keeping up a running commentary while doing so. 

Yes, Sherlock had wanted to please John by helping him get a look at the world of medicine, but Mike Stamford had given John the keys to the ruddy place! Of course he had. One hint of an omega who was actually interested in medicine and Mike had jumped into “program director” mode. Sherlock mused sadly that it was his own fault. He should have done his research before calling Mike. The problem was, when it came to John, he didn’t seem to be thinking rationally any more. Although, if he had known, would he have been able to keep John from something he so obviously loved? 

And therein lay the rub. He wasn’t this, this thing… this sentimental idiot, this “guardian and protector” of an omega’s happiness. He was a high-functioning sociopath and had the diagnosis to prove it. Granted, he had manipulated the results a little, but wasn’t that what a sociopath would do?

Sherlock leaned back against the window and looked at John. Where was the fragile wraith he had bodily carried out of the auction house? This was a different John. He was still thin, but his hollowed cheeks had filled out and the set of his shoulders was different – he looked more robust, stronger, much more alive. This was a John that didn’t need him, apparently. Sherlock shook his head slightly. Well, he didn’t need John either, so there was no problem. 

“Sherlock! Check this out! The professors taking these classes are not just the same professors taking the regular classes, they are some of the highest ranked ones!” And John waved two pamphlets excitedly. 

Also apparently a John with more brains than Sherlock had earlier discerned. Sherlock felt almost resentful at the new, attractive petals his omega was unfurling. “Are they?” 

“Yes. Wow. And check out the number of specialised labs they have!” 

Sherlock threw him a sulky glance which John did not look up to see, and walked out of the room into his bedroom. He threw himself down on the bed, feeling absolutely horrible. He hadn’t felt so strange for a long time. His stomach clenched as he thought of John, going to classes, taking up a job, meeting other omegas, other betas, other alphas. 

All without Sherlock. 

Unbonded. Free. 

He shook his head violently, his curls slapping against his forehead. He still couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bond. Not even with John. He would have to live with it. Live with the roiling emotions that curled in the pit of his stomach every time he thought of John leaving him. He would be fine. 

He had to be fine. His body was just transport. 

Sentiment? Sentiment was a weakness he could not afford. 

With the kind of people he had put in jail, how could he afford to have a family? It was bad enough that he had a soft spot for Mrs Hudson and the DI. 

John, John as a pressure point would be far worse. He knew that instinctively. Everyone knew what bonding meant – the moment he bonded, John would be a target. Why, oh why did he ever buy him?

Maybe they could just go on like this, living together. John would study and work. Sherlock would try to ignore his jealousy. It could work. Sherlock could trust in John’s loyalty. But was that fair? John deserved to have a family of his own. He may even want children. Sherlock couldn’t offer anything of the sort. 

He lay there for half an hour, then got up and returned to the living room. John was muttering in a low voice as he wrote down some numbers in a cream-coloured notepad. 

“Did you keep talking when I was away?” Sherlock asked. 

John looked up. “Huh? Oh. Was I? I was just trying to note down the different career paths. I can be a qualified doctor in 5 years, but getting a specialisation takes 3 more, so it’s important to carefully select your subjects.” 

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Sherlock said, a trifle maliciously. 

John looked up. “What?”

“If you bond, you’ll have children. Two at a time, at the minimum. Do you really think you’ll be able to study for 8 years?” This time the sneer was more apparent.

“‘If’ I bond? Sherlock?”

“Well, you’re an attractive omega. You’re bound to find someone.” 

Sherlock resolutely refused to look at John. He looked out the window instead. 

After some silence, John said in a small voice, “I thought I had already found someone.” 

“You mean me?”

“Yes. I belong to you, Sherlock. And I thought you liked me! What have the last few days all been about, then?” 

“I’m prepared to emancipate you.”

There was silence again for a while. Sherlock felt, rather than heard, John squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw. 

“Sherlock.” 

“What?”

“I am not having this conversation with your back.”

Sherlock turned around. John’s face was white, but his jaw was set and his eyes determined. 

“Tell me, do you want to bond with me or not?”

“I don’t want bonds, John! Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.” 

Sherlock almost recoiled at the fury on John’s face. He had never seen John look so angry, not even at the father who had abused him for years, and the fact that it was Sherlock who had put that look there hurt far more than he would have expected. He lifted an arm without knowing what he was doing, blindly reaching out to John. 

John’s expression immediately softened. “All right, then.” 

Sherlock stiffened. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to say? You own me, body, mind, heart and soul. But I’m still not a slave.”

“What? I don’t own you. I’ve just told you I’ll emancipate you. You’re free to do whatever you want.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you git.”

“Oh, gratitude. Boring.”

John shook his head despairingly. That wasn’t what he had meant, at all. “Sherlock, sit down.”

Sherlock sat down next to John. 

John turned towards Sherlock so their knees pressed together. 

“It’s all right. You don’t want to bond, and I respect that. It’s all fine.”

Sherlock felt irrationally angry that John was taking this so well. Didn’t it mean anything to him, this relationship? Whatever it was.

John put his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face comfortingly. “Don’t be mad at me. We’ll do whatever you want.” 

John’s eyes were moist. He had no idea why Sherlock didn’t want to bond, but it was abundantly clear that Sherlock was hurting. His own feelings didn’t matter anymore. Comforting Sherlock was his first priority at the moment. 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across Sherlock’s. Sherlock froze and John pulled back. “Not good?”

Sherlock said, “Mmmmm”. His licked his lips tentatively. The slight taste of John’s saliva tingled on his tongue and he suddenly wanted more. Needed more. 

He reached out, his hand caressing John’s cheek wonderingly. “Why aren’t you angry?”

John leaned into the caress and his breathing hitched slightly. “I can’t stay mad at you, you git. You’re just too goddamn pretty!” 

Sherlock smiled at that, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to John’s. He closed his eyes and revelled in the sensation of John’s soft lips against his. 

He needed to taste those lips again. He opened his mouth slightly, and hesitantly let himself taste John’s lips with the tip of his tongue. John groaned and put his arms around Sherlock’s neck. John moved closer, his body now pressed against Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock swiped his tongue against John’s lips again, more demandingly this time, and John opened his mouth. Sherlock surged upward, pushing in, the potent taste of John’s saliva hitting him like a dozen shots of cocaine. He moaned helplessly, unable to pull back or do anything but frenziedly explore his lover’s mouth. John tasted of tea and curry and something undefinable that was John, John, John. Minutes went by, their kissing became more languid, and their breathing grew calmer. 

John tried to pull back. Sherlock immediately let him go. 

John looked at Sherlock and started giggling. Sherlock gave him a mock affronted look and then joined in. He reached out and pulled John closer again, holding him tight. “John, you taste so good.” 

“Mmmm… so do you.” John couldn’t hold back any longer. That long, slender neck had been enticing him for days. He daringly moved closer and licked up the side of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock shuddered as the hormones hit him. “What – what are you doing?” 

John didn’t reply – he licked another swathe across Sherlock’s neck, moaning slightly. Sherlock jerked as a hundred strong sensations flooded his body. John turned Sherlock slightly so that he could lick at Sherlock’s scent gland, and Sherlock went limp in John’s arms. 

“Oh god oh god oh god.” Sherlock moaned as he turned his body around further to give John easier access. John licked again, thoroughly, enjoying the chemicals surging through his own body. Yes, he had been bonded before, but he realized whatever he had felt with James was not a tenth of this. So this is what happened when an alpha and omega were compatible? It was brilliant! 

Sherlock lay practically draped over the sofa’s back, gasping. John pulled back and Sherlock’s breathing slowed and became more even. He turned back to John helplessly. “I’ve never…” 

“I know.” John said lovingly. “Come, I’ll take care of you.” 

Sherlock moved forward into John’s arms again. John just held him for a couple of minutes till their breaths synchronised. 

Sherlock started fidgeting. 

“Sherlock?” 

“I need to… it’s tight” Sherlock said plaintively. 

John hid a smile and kissed Sherlock again, languidly exploring his mouth. Sherlock gasped at first, then submitted quietly, enjoying the feeling of his omega taking control. 

John pulled Sherlock’s dressing gown off his shoulders, reached for his silk pajama top, undid the top buttons and softly kissed the hollow of his throat. 

John undid the rest of the buttons, pulled open the top and almost gaped at the beauty of his alpha’s pale, slim form. Perfectly shaped shoulders tapered into a slim waist. A classically shaped chest with a sprinkling of feathery hair. Not a six-pack but a lean, smooth, hard stomach. 

John looked up to find Sherlock’s questioning gaze upon him. He blushed, “No, it’s just… you’re so beautiful. Like a statue.”

Sherlock reached out, took John’s hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. “Do I feel like a statue?”

John shook his head. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock’s chest for good measure. And since they were there, flicked his tongue across Sherlock’s nipples. 

Sherlock gasped. “Stop teasing me.” He said almost pitiably. 

At that John realised, below that delectable stomach, his alpha was fully erect. Probably painfully so.

He reached out and pulled Sherlock’s pants down slowly, careful not to drag them across the sensitive penis. Freed from the restrictive briefs, Sherlock's cock sprang upright. This wasn’t going to last long, and John didn’t want to drag it out either. There would be time for more finesse when Sherlock wasn’t ready to go off like a hormonal teenager. 

“Lie back.”

Sherlock leaned back against the sofa. 

John leaned forward and pressed his lips against the tip of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock made a strangled sound as John took the cockhead into his mouth. John couldn’t take it all, of course – it was well beyond average even for an alpha, and fully erect. A touch would set Sherlock off and John wanted so badly to taste him. 

Kneeling between Sherlock’s knees, John bent down, took his cock expertly in his hand and began jerking him off quickly, alternately bobbing down and taking a good quarter of it into his mouth or running his tongue greedily over the tip. There was enough pre-cum and saliva to lubricate the entire muscled length, and John used it relentlessly. Within a few minutes, it was over and Sherlock was slumped back, gasping, cum all over his stomach and chest. 

John got up, went to the bathroom and came back with moist towels with which he cleaned Sherlock up. He himself was hard, too, and more than a little frustrated, but this was not about him, it was about Sherlock. John owed Sherlock so much, and, truth to be told, loved him with all his heart. Whatever Sherlock’s hang-ups about bonding, John intended to be there for him, as long as he was allowed to. 

Sherlock was utterly spent. Boneless. As in a dream, he felt moist towels wiping him clean. Callused hands buttoned up his pajamas again, and lifted his legs up on the couch. Strong hands moved him so that he was lying on the couch sideways, and a cushion was placed under his head. A warm hand caressed his hair. “Get some rest, Sherlock.”

Without opening his eyes, Sherlock reached out and grasped John’s hand and brought it to his lips. 

“John…I…” 

“It’s all fine, Sherlock. Just rest, ok?” And Sherlock felt a pair of soft lips press against his own before he drifted off to sleep.


	8. The Fork in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Take, oh, take those lips away_  
>  _That so sweetly were forsworn_  
>  _And those eyes, like break of day,_  
>  _Lights that do mislead the morn;_  
>  _But my kisses bring again,_  
>  _Seals of love, though sealed in vain._  
>  \- John Fletcher
> 
> Chapter summary - John's struggling with the thought of impending heartbreak, while Sherlock is still grappling with the decision of his lifetime. He thinks he has a solution, but an unwelcome visit from Mycroft disillusions him. 
> 
> Fic summary - In a world where alphas rule, and where omegas are bought and sold at the fringes of decent society, a consulting detective chasing a gang of assassins is forced to buy an omega at an auction. Will his reluctant (i.e. kicking and screaming) sacrifice help him solve the case? "Soft" Omegaverse story, more an exploration of gender dynamics in unfair societies than a study of the chemistry and biology involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!! Whatever you celebrate - Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Saturnalia, et al - may this season be filled with beauty and happiness! 
> 
> My Christmas gift to all my gorgeous readers - a new chapter! And you all know what I want from Santa, don't you? That is, apart from canon Johnlock? Lotsa lovely comments! (**shameless begging - pretty please with sugar on it?**)

CHAPTER 8

“Sherlock! I’m leaving now!” 

Sherlock made a dissatisfied noise and turned back to the microscope. 

John shook his head. He had really wanted Sherlock along for his doctor’s appointment, but Sherlock had been ignoring him for two days, so it was a bit of a lost cause. Sherlock was ostensibly absorbed in a cold case that hinged on the type of wood filings found embedded in the victim’s shoe, but John was not naïve enough to believe that. 

It was two days since their visit to Bart’s. Two days since Sherlock had told John he didn’t want to bond with him. Of course, right after that, they had made love on the sofa, so, well, it was obviously complicated. 

The next morning, Sherlock had brought home a bundle of files containing cold cases, and buried himself in them. He had apparently decided to pretend John didn’t exist. Which hurt, of course, but John wasn’t a complete idiot. 

John decided to go with the flow for now. Confronting Sherlock would probably have the opposite effect, so it was better to lie low until Sherlock’s massive brain finally figured out what his heart wanted. 

In the meantime, John didn’t mope around the house. He sought out company instead. Thanks to Sherlock, he now had some friends he could turn to. 

He spent hours below with Mrs Hudson, who baked shortbread and pasties for him, watched telly with him, and told him stories about Sherlock as a child that had them both rocking with laughter. She had been with the Holmes family since before Sherlock was born. 

Molly had called, and taken him out. They had gone to the movies, watched an unintentionally hilarious action movie, chugged litres of fizzy drinks and gobbled down mounds of toffee popcorn. John had felt sick later, but it was totally worth it. He didn’t mention Sherlock at all during the outing, and Molly carefully refrained from asking. 

John had also gone to Bart’s all by himself and spent 45 minutes with Mike Stamford, going over the course options again. When he returned, Sherlock had suspiciously sniffed his jacket, then lost interest as he recognised Mike’s scent. 

Other than that one incident, he ignored John.

The rest of the time, John studied the brochures and course literature and drew up plans, and devoured three basic primers on biology and medicine he had checked out of the library. He wanted to become a surgeon, but perhaps pathologist would be a good idea as well. He could work with Molly then. And help Sherlock. Although there was clearly a question mark over the second idea. 

Molly, dear, sweet Molly, had got him an appointment with a beta doctor at Bart’s who actually had an omega assistant. He would be fine, John told himself. He wasn’t apprehensive about the appointment. He felt healthier than he had felt for years. It was the uncertainty about his relationship with Sherlock that was eating him. 

But underneath the image of slight, boyish, sweet omega, John Watson had a core of steel. He had survived decades of abuse from his parents and even from his alpha sister, he had survived the death of a mated partner. Whatever happened with Sherlock, he would survive. If his future was to live merely as the flatmate of a consulting detective, then so be it. He would finish his classes and build a future for himself. 

After all, he had more hope in his life now than he had had a couple of months ago. If he had to carry a broken heart as well, that would heal, in time. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Sherlock looked around. Where was John? Oh yes, he had spoken about going somewhere. With Molly? He’d be back soon enough. John’s absence was a relief, in a way. He was far too distracting. Sherlock was trying to get his thoughts into order, but no amount of rearranging of the data was getting him closer to a decision. Sherlock was sorely tempted to give in and ask John to bond with him, but a little voice niggled at him – what if he made a terrible mistake? 

The doorbell rang and he heard the muted sounds of Mrs Hudson opening the door. Heavy steps sounded on the stairs. Sherlock frowned. Mycroft! What was he doing here?

The door opened and a tall, ginger-haired alpha walked in, beautifully turned out and carrying a sleek umbrella and a sleeker briefcase. 

Sherlock frowned and turned back to his microscope. “Go away, Mycroft!” 

Mycroft sat down on Sherlock’s lavishly leather-upholstered sofa. “I don’t think I will. I came to discuss that omega of yours.” 

Sherlock glared at him, “He’s not my omega”. 

“Ah. I’m immensely relieved to hear that, dear brother. What are you planning to do with him?”

“Do with him? Why should I do anything with him?”

“I had heard you were planning to resell him?”

“Who told you that? Ah, Lestrade, of course. No, I changed my mind.” 

“Well, in that case, what are you planning to do?”

“I don’t think it’s any concern of yours.” 

“Oh, you’re sadly mistaken. If you’re planning to bond with, or even live with an omega you bought at an omega auction, it’s very much my concern.” Mycroft frowned in distaste. 

“My life is not your concern, Mycroft, and never has been!” 

Mycroft shrugged. That topic had been done to death and he refused to be drawn away from the subject. “Our family has been listed in the peerage since Debrett’s, Sherlock, in case you’d forgotten.” 

Sherlock grinned wolfishly. “Give me an hour on the Internet and I’ll produce a list of all the murderers among them.” 

Mycroft hadn’t worked 20 years for the government without learning how to choose his battles. He quickly changed tack. “What would Mummy say?” 

Sherlock flinched. “Why should she say anything? She will like John.” 

“So it’s “John” now, is it?” 

Sherlock didn’t bother to reply. The experiment at the microscope was a lost cause anyway, till he got rid of Mycroft. He got up, went to the window and looked out. 

“Why are you interested in him, Sherlock? Is he a murderer? Or a user? A trafficker, perhaps, getting you your next fix?” 

Sherlock rounded on Mycroft in fury. “He’s nothing of the sort! John Watson is a war widower. He’s completely respectable, even by your standards! I don’t care if you sneer at me, but you’ll treat John with respect!” 

Mycroft was shocked into speechlessness. 

“You’re wasting your time here, Mycroft. Get out.” 

“Once and for all, Sherlock, are you planning to bond with him?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Ah.”

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock looked around. “Stop thinking so loudly. You’re annoying me.”

“Am I now?” 

“I’m going to emancipate him. Happy?” 

“Emancipate a fertile omega? Are you out of your mind? Or have you deleted those legal courses you did at University?”

Sherlock turned around and glared. “I may have. Explain.” 

“An omega can either be bonded or emancipated, not both. The moment your omega is emancipated, he is going to be easy prey for any unbonded alpha. Bonding is bonding – a bond-bite during an omega’s heat does not need his or her consent.”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, stunned. No, he didn’t remember learning about this at University, but back then, omegas were not part of his world view at all. This was such a violation of human rights that even sociopaths would flinch, he thought gloomily.

“But surely there must be laws punishing alphas who forcibly bond omegas? Last I heard, rape was still illegal.” 

“Yes, but alphas can get away with it by saying they could not resist an omega in heat. There are so many legal precedents of the kind that I don’t even remember the last time a free omega brought rape charges against an alpha.” 

“That cannot be correct. I don’t remember specific cases offhand, but I’ve seen several cases of alphas prosecuted and jailed for rape.”

“Yes, and it’s always been the omega’s guardian or bonded alpha who brought the suit. Omegas themselves never file charges. An alpha who bonds an omega without the permission of his or her guardian can be jailed or at least sued for restitution. An alpha who bonds with an emancipated omega becomes the legal guardian of that omega.” 

Sherlock got up and went to the window. “That’s disgusting.” 

“If you want to help this John of yours, find him an eligible alpha. I can help you there, dear brother.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Really? Perhaps you have an eligible alpha in mind? Lots of unbonded alphas in the Homeless Network?”

Sherlock stayed silent. 

Mycroft opened his briefcase and took out a file. He threw it on the coffee table. 

“As I feared, you seem to have developed something of a conscience regarding this omega. Which is why I brought this.”

Sherlock didn’t move to pick it up. “What is it?”

“The simplest solution to your problem. If not the cheapest. Although it will probably work out cheaper in the long run.” 

“But what is it?”

“An application for wardship. It’s filled up. Just sign it, and John Watson becomes a ward of the crown, with a quarter of a million pounds settled upon him. He can live alone, or study, or do whatever he wants to, protected by the government. And of course, with that kind of money, he could easily find a respectable alpha to bond with.”

Sherlock growled. 

“Am I to assume this solution is not to your liking, dear brother?”

Sherlock kept staring out into the street and didn’t reply. With the last bit of data from Mycroft, the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. 

Mycroft watched the expressions flitting across Sherlock’s face. “If you want to bond with him yourself, you’re going about it all wrong, you know.” 

“What do you mean?”

“He has a doctor’s appointment today, at Bart’s. Dr Carrie Fisher. When an alpha is seriously courting an omega, at the very least they offer to accompany them to doctor’s appointments. Bonding makes health a joint issue. I can drive you down to Bart’s, if you like. And we can continue this conversation on the way.”

Sherlock looked around, his lips pursed. “Let’s go.”

Sherlock hated being beholden to his brother. Mycroft had a history of making Sherlock pay back favours in really annoying ways. Once ensconced in the back seat of the Benz, Sherlock turned to Mycroft suspiciously, “Why are you helping me?”

Mycroft pursed his lips. “Whatever you may believe, I’m not your enemy. If a respectable omega has managed to hold your interest for a week, I am very much interested in meeting him.”

“You’ll meet him.” 

“So kind. Thank you,” Mycroft drawled. 

Then the penny dropped. “Oh, you mean, you have actually come to a decision?”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He had just received a message from Lestrade and was busy replying to it.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* 

In the meantime, John had registered at the hospital, and a student nurse had taken his measurements, and then walked him through some basic tests, including blood, breath and scent glands. He had to wait 30 minutes for the results of the tests before he was escorted to Dr Fisher’s office. 

Dr Fisher was a short, chubby beta with friendly eyes. She didn’t introduce John to her omega assistant, who sat at a table a distance away, wearing a cloth mask. 

“So, John, this is your first appointment in 3 years?”

“Yes.” 

“I believe your previous alpha was a soldier? A tragic loss. My condolences.” 

“Thank you.”

“Although I have to add, congratulations on your new relationship. Your tests show an unusually high degree of compatibility with your new alpha. Is he here, by the way?”

John shook his head. “I don’t have an alpha. Not really.”

Dr Fisher looked down at the test files doubtfully. “I realise you haven’t bonded yet, but your tests show strong chemical bonds with an alpha. It’s really none of my business, but as a doctor I am obliged to advise you - if you do not plan to bond, you need to end the relationship. The closer you get, the more risky a breakup becomes.” 

John set his jaw. He hadn’t thought of that. “I can’t,” he gritted out. “I was bought at an omega auction.”

The doctor stared at him, and the omega assistant dropped something with a soft thud. 

“You don’t look like…” the doctor’s voice tapered off as she realised too late how rude that sounded. 

She shook her head sympathetically. “Well, we’ll do our best to help you. Your heat is due in about 2 weeks, I believe?”

“Yes, it is.”

The phone rang and the assistant picked it up. She spoke too softly for John to hear, but once she put the phone down, she raised her voice a little. “A Mr Holmes wants to come in. Mr Watson’s alpha.” 

Dr Fisher said quietly, “He had better come in.” She went to the door, opened it, looked around and called out, “Mr Holmes?” 

John gripped the arms of his chair. He couldn’t believe it. Sherlock? Here? After doing his best to ignore him for two days? Did Molly call him?

But the doctor moved away from the door and Sherlock walked in. He held out his hand. “Dr Fisher? I’m sorry I was delayed.” 

The doctor shook his hand perfunctorily. While sympathetic to John, she clearly disapproved of alphas who bought omegas at auction. “Not a problem, Mr Holmes. You’re just in time, in fact. Please sit down.”

Sherlock sat next to John, giving him an apologetic look. John smiled tentatively at Sherlock, who smiled back, his eyes crinkling with affection. He reached out and took John’s hand in his own. And suddenly all was right with the world again. 

The doctor looked more kindly on Sherlock. “Well, since you’re both here, let’s go over the basics. The good news is that, based on these tests, the two of you are unusually compatible. Which should make John’s upcoming heat easier, if you decide to spend it together. If you do spend it together, you will both need plenty of water, fluids and nourishing food.” 

John looked at Sherlock, who nodded. John looked away quickly. It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. 

Dr Fisher cleared her throat. “If not, John will need meds to reduce the symptoms, a cool place and plenty of fluids. Your own home should be fine. Closing the windows should be enough to ensure stray alphas don’t try to enter the house. We also have an omega safe house at Bart’s, which is open for emergencies. I would strongly suggest, Mr Holmes, that you spend those days with John.” 

She handed pamphlets to both of them. “You’ll find more details there. John, according to your tests, you show some signs of malnutrition, am guessing from your time at the auction house?”

John nodded. “And before that as well, yes.”

“I’m prescribing a multi-vitamin, three balanced meals a day, and protein supplements for the next three months. And this is the prescription for your heat, if you spend it alone. Four different medicines.” And she patiently explained what each medicine was for, and how they were to be taken. 

“I will see you after three months. If you have any trouble, call and book an appointment again. And here’s my number for emergencies.” She handed John a card. 

Sherlock got up. “Thank you, Dr Fisher.” He walked out of the room quickly and John had to trot to keep up. 

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned. “Do keep up, John. We have a case! Lestrade texted me while I was on the way.” 

“Oh! Do you want me to come with you?” 

Sherlock walked back and put his hands on John’s shoulders. “Of course I do, John! Have you forgotten the last one?” 

John grinned widely. Sherlock turned and John quickly swung to Sherlock’s side, trying to match his long strides. All other concerns were forgotten. Sherlock was paying him attention again, and that itself was intoxicating. 

He remembered the exhilaration of the last case, and that had just been a stake-out. This case would see Sherlock display all his powers of deduction and John couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in the last stretch! Thanks to everyone who has followed the story so far. You're the best! 
> 
> Disclaimer - however the chapter ends, this is NOT a casefic! In this story, I'm only interested in getting those two idiots together. :)
> 
> Just two more chapters to go! Ohmygod - I can't believe I'm close to finishing it!


End file.
